


Sock-wearing Antique Stealing Thief

by SleepingReader



Series: The Terry Pratchett Challenge - 31 days, 400 words a day - [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Stealing, antiques, thieves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 13:35:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19465072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepingReader/pseuds/SleepingReader
Summary: A thief walks into an old lady's home, determined to steal back something that he desperately wants.Three word prompts: Thrill, Fruit, Vase





	Sock-wearing Antique Stealing Thief

The Thief entered the apartment on socked feet. Shoes would have made too much sound. Bare feet would stick. No, it was socks. Soft, fluffy socks that he chose for this escapade. They had reindeer on them.   
He crept through the rooms, the shiny silver chrome MacBook on the table forgotten. No, he was here on a different mission. The thrill of the chase. The finding, the hunting, the sniffing, the planning… It had taken three weeks.   
Three weeks to locate the house of the old crone who kept coming into the antique shop he frequented, and getting everything he wanted to get his hands on. The painting of the fruit basket. The ancient model of a ship. The obsidian cat. 

He had wanted that cat more than anything, more than life itself. As if it were the void beyond the stars brought to life, brought to stone. The fur was so delicately carved, it was almost real. Every single strand of hair and whisker had been wrought out of the volcanic stone. In the right light, the cat seemed the glow from the inside. As if it was made out of cooling lava. He had wanted it. Had desired it.  
But Old Mrs Robbensin had gotten it before.   
He tried to cast Mrs Robbinsin out from his mind. Old crone, standard in her ugly faded black dress. If she had been alive before the age of plastic surgery, she would have had a wart on her nose the size of a grape.   
Her voice, gentle and polite until he tried to outsmart her.   
He never succeeded. 

Too long had he hidden in the shadows while she raided the antique shop, not even setting off an alarm. Too long had he had stakeouts while she was already calling the police about ‘suspicious activity’   
And when he had called the police about her? They laughed.   
The Thief had had it. He had found her son’s Facebook. His address. Her address from the wife’s planner.   
The Thief had staked out, doing what he did best. Looking. Sniffing. Hunting.   
The thrill of the chase.   
In another life, he would have been an old bloodhound, or a pig sniffing for truffles.  
In another life, she would have been a mosquito. Finding every way in and buzzing in your ear until you got insane. Or she would have been a cat, slipping into your window and knocking your favourite cup off of the table.  
Weeks of sneaky glances, he had found the location and the code of her safe.   
1931, her birthdate. Typical for an old lady.   
His socked feet made barely a sound as he slid through the rooms. Left, right… left. Past the Ancient Chinese Vase. She could keep it. Ugly thing  
Straight ahead… There it was. Behind a priceless painting made by the Mona Lisa, who had been drawing Da Vinci while he drew her.   
He slid the painting away… There it was, the safe. He glanced backwards. His brain vaguely tried to remind him he had forgotten something. That something was missing. Something large. But he didn’t listen. He only had eyes for the safe.   
1….9…3…5…

He heard, rather than felt, the loud crash of the Ancient Chinese vase upon his head.   
He collapsed immediately.  
‘Fuck youuu!’ The old lady cheered, stomping on his prone body before calling the police on her ex-husband.

**Author's Note:**

> Day 4 of the Terry Pratchett Writing Challenge!


End file.
